A broken man
by Thegirlwiththekey
Summary: John wakes up the morning after The Reichenbach Fall
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock?

Sherlock!

SHERLOCK!

John wakens with a jolt, a rush of memories flood him he sits up and promptly vomits all over the floor. Downstairs he hears Mrs Hudson on her way to check if he is ok. She probably heard him screaming. His bedside clock reads 4:38 am. All he can see is Sherlock lying on the pavement, blood oozing out of him, proving that he was a man, not a machine. Like a dream. Or a nightmare. But real. So real, he feels the lump on his forehead from where the cyclist came crashing into him. So real, he sees his bloodstained trousers on the floor stained as he fainted in Sherlock's blood as they whisked him away. So real, he can still hear Molly's voice "I am so sorry John, he's gone". Gone where? Where has the great Sherlock Holmes gone to? Surely heaven. Mrs Hudson knocks on the door. "Are you ok?" she says, pushing open the door and politely stepping over the vomit. She sits beside him and turns on his bedside light. John notices her face is red and puffy from crying. Suddenly he felt selfish for thinking he was the only one who cared about Sherlock. Maybe Mycroft was crying at home too. And Molly, John made a mental note to go and see her as soon as he could.

He didn't even see the flat when he came in. It was dark, he walked without looking up to his room and shut out today's pain. Back to being the broken man, alone in a room. He crawled into his bed and curled up. Who was John without Sherlock?

No.

Sherlock was not a fake. No, Sherlock was the cleverest and bravest man John knew. How could anyone keep up an act like that for so long? John smacks the side of his temple to try almost to make all the questions in his head exit his head through his ears. Like Sherlock's blood. John felt nauseous again.

All at once it was morning. The light streamed through the curtains and the dust particles danced in the light. It reminded John of how Sherlock hated to dust, hated to keep anything clean for that matter. He cried. John sat and cried and howled until he thought his lungs had dried out. Sherlock was not dead. No. How could he be? Sherlock wasn't silly enough to fall for Moriarty's scheme.

He got dressed and went downstairs into the living room. It was exactly as they had left it. John was angry at himself for expecting any less. No one was going to come in and remove all remnants of Sherlock's existence. He heard the click of the letterbox downstairs and he ran for the papers.

"Suicide of fake genius"

"Fraud" Read another.

Always the hat picture. John forced a smile at the bittersweet irony. Even after death he couldn't escape the deerstalker hat.

The empty flat seemed to be swallowing John up. He wasn't hungry.

I will go and see Molly, he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

A Broken Man PT 2

John went up to his bedroom to get his coat and he saw the bloodstained clothes on the floor. How could he wash Sherlock away? The sunlight had gone from his window and rain spattered the window outside. Not bothering to take an umbrella he crashed out of the flat. Head down, his feet led the way whilst his mind whirred. Somewhere under his layer his stomach cried out for food.

Sherlock never ate when he was on a case. So he wouldn't either.

John had researched what a lack of food does to the body as a student. When starved of food the body's sense become heightened in its quest to find some. A survival mechanism. John secretly thought this was the true reason Sherlock didn't eat, even though he never mentioned it to him. All the things he didn't tell Sherlock.

_Molly was completely and irrevocably in love with him._

_He had seen Sherlock putting mousse in his hair to give it its perfect 'messy' look one morning._

_He had found a picture of Sherlock and Mycroft as children in Sherlock's drawer whilst searching for cigarettes once._

John was still making this list when he arrived at Molly's door. He decided he would tell Sherlock all these things when he visited him in the mortuary. Rapping on the door, he took a step back. Molly arrived looking dishevelled, still in yesterday's clothes and _her lab coat. _Momentarily stunned John gaped open -mouthed. Yet, there was something odd about her. She didn't look particularly upset. John didn't look particularly good either, he was soaked through and his hair stuck to his face.

"Come in" Molly flustered and closed the door with a quick glance up the street.

He breathed deeply, taking in the smell of incense. Molly took his damp coat and he flattened his hair in a rustic mirror in the hall. She looked searchingly at him and said finally:

"John I am so sorry". Her eyes darted to the carpet and she shuffled her feet.

"I'm sorry too" he whispered and embraced her. She quietly sobbed on his shoulder and they stood together, a million miles from their pain. Just as it began they both stepped back and looked at each other.

"I'm dripping on your carpet" he remarked pointedly. She smiled and wiped a stray tear. Molly led into the kitchen and she flicked the switch on the kettle. She then ran upstairs and got a towel for John, it was a ludicrous shade of pink but he gratefully ruffled it through his hair.

Sitting in the living room, they both said nothing and yet both had a lot to say. John broke the silence first.

"I want to see him" he said finally. Molly's face twitched.

"You...can't" she replied.

"Why?" John demanded.

"His head is too...damaged, they won't let you. _I_ won't let you."

"What? I saw him on the" he swallowed the bile rising in his throat with a short cough. "pavement".

Molly looked at him with a deep sadness.

"Who identified him then?" he challenged.

"I did" Molly said her eyes glassy with tears.

"You're not allowed to do that, I know the protocol!" John was almost yelling now, with each sentence Molly flinched and seemed to grow smaller.

"Who else is there?" She whispered.

John considered this. Was it just him, Molly, and Mrs Hudson? There was no way they would let Greg do it, he probably wasn't even allowed on the case. John had fled unchallenged from the hospital and no one wanted Mrs Hudson to see _that._

Mycroft?!

Where was Mycroft in all of this? John suddenly thought. Where was the Queen of England when his brother was lying cold in a mortuary.


End file.
